Destiny in Hand
by Darthishtar
Summary: A world-changing conversation between McGonagall and Dumbledore. Or in other words, how Hogwarts prepared for its werewolf Marauder. Birthday fic for Eowyn77.


Author's note: Happy birthday to Eowyn77! If you read an autism subtext into part of Dumbledore's commentary, that is intentional. I haven't written very much of Dumbledore and McGonagall, but hope you all enjoy this story of what happened the year that the Marauders came to Hogwarts.

-hp-hp-hp-

August 1 was always a splendid day to be at Hogwarts. There were always a few stragglers who failed to send in their reply until July 31, but on August 1, the staff at Hogwarts knew the sort of student body that they were to welcome with open arms and textbooks on September 1. It was the day when Professor Dumbledore would respectfully sit down with the house elves and approve the grocery lists and feast plans while they plied him with a few more morsels of his favorite pudding and asked if he would like more pumpkin juice. On that day, Hagrid dusted off the four-person boats that would carry the new students to the castle and calculated the number of carriages needed so the thestrals would be ready. Best of all, Professor McGonagall oversaw the ordering of Quidditch supplies for the upcoming season.

August 1 was a wonderful day to be at Hogwarts, but the same could not be said for July 17. With two weeks until the final pre-term preparations got underway, there were Muggle-borns to reach out to and procrastinators to nudge about their letters. OWL results had already been distributed, so the Heads of House had to review how incompatible the students' career goals were with their exam marks.

Minerva McGonagall had taken a short break from frowning at a few unexpectedly-low Transfiguration marks to visit a Muggle-born witch. The girl had been amusingly eager to receive her invitation to Hogwarts, which was shortly explained by her childhood friendship with a half-blood boy in her neighborhood. The parents had been supportive, but the older sister had glowered from the stairs and refused to join the conversation. In the end, Minerva had been hard-pressed to get a word in edgewise while "Sev" gabbled away about Hogwarts and she had stopped by the boy's house to commend Eileen for her son's enthusiasm.

With that appointment kept, she Apparated to the Hogsmeade High Street. It was a pleasant day for a leisurely walk and with no papers to mark or students to discipline for another month, she slowed her usual pace to a stroll.

The sight that met her at the gates of her school stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall," Albus called cheerfully. "Come have a pair of gloves and lend a hand."

The headmaster had donned a pair himself, but was waving his wand cheerily at a tree that stood taller than Hagrid. Pomona Sprout was on the other side, her robes covered in soil and her face one of a child who had been given every sweet ever invented for Christmas.

"Professor," Minerva spluttered, "what on earth…"

"Anonymous donor," Albus boomed. "He saw one of these fascinating trees abroad and contributed the necessary Galleons to bring one to the place that had given him such fond memories of Herbology lessons."

"Could he not have bought a forest?" she blurted out. "It might have been smaller."

Pomona and Albus shared a laugh as though she were reacting exactly as they had anticipated. "And less costly," Pomona said. "As there is only one other of these in Britain, it is extremely valuable."

She was looking so fondly at the monstrosity, which Minerva was still observing from the roots up, that Minerva was surprised it didn't have a name yet.

"And what precisely is it?"

"A Whomping Willow," Pomona pronounced proudly.

"A Wh…" Words failed her again. "You mean to tell me that not only is this behemoth going to be on the grounds, it will be able to beat the students?"

"Ideally, no," Albus chuckled. "There will be strict rules in place to prevent any mishaps…"

"Which the Prewett brothers will deftly ignore to see how close they can come to losing a head," Minerva predicted solemnly.

"But it will not be on the only path to Greenhouse Three, for example," he continued. "It will be a lovely and fascinating addition to our landscape."

"And you needn't look so frightened, Minerva," Pomona assured her. "It only whomps once it puts down its roots."

Be that as it may, Minerva gave it as wide a berth as possible.

"Headmaster," she called, "Lily Evans _will_ be glad to join this year's incoming class."

"Excellent," he replied. "Sure we can't persuade you to assist with the planting?"

"Quite sure," she said. "If you need me, I shall be in my office."

He turned up three hours later with smudges of dirt on his cheek and a goose egg on his left temple.

"I inadvertently pinched it," he explained before Minerva could ask. "I won't be making that mistake again."

Minerva considered it bad form to look exasperated with the headmaster, so managed to restrain herself to a sigh.

" _Why_?"

"For a student," he said, sitting on a spare seat and reaching without invitation for her tartan tin of biscuits. She had long ago learned to not stop him when he felt like a ginger newt.

"Yes, you said one was quite fond of Herbology…"

"An incoming student," Albus clarified. "Or rather, a potential first year. We will know in a few hours."

"He will only attend this school if an abusive sapling is around?" she deadpanned. "Might his temperament not be better suited for Durmstrang?"

"Some might say so," Albus said, suddenly grave. "Others would say he has no business coming near a school. I say he is a child, as deserving of a place here as any other."

It was a clever speech that borrowed directly from her response to a proposal in the Daily Prophet that Muggle-borns be culled from magical education. That did not answer her question, however.

"If he has a tendency towards violence…"

"He is a child," Albus repeated. "He has a tendency towards plum puddings and games of gobstones. I'm told that he asked his mum for a hippogriff last Christmas. Do you really think he's a danger to anyone in such a state?"

No, in fact, he would probably make an excellent Hufflepuff.

"If he requires a Whomping Willow, yes."

Albus chuckled again and helped himself to a ginger newt before offering Minerva one of her own biscuits. She accepted a marzipan mermaid and closed the tin.

"I'm sorry," Albus said. "I seem to have left out an important detail. _I_ require the Whomping Willow. The donor is real, as is his desire to contribute to the flora of Hogwarts. I do, however, think he meant to buy us a few hundred fanged geraniums with his bequest."

"And you chose this monstrosity…"

"For a student," he reiterated.

Clearly, he had no intention of naming the student or elaborating at the moment. She was not so inclined to leave it at that.

"This is for one of your projects, isn't it?" she accused.

"I don't know what you mean," Albus said airily.

"Hagrid," she reminded him. "You saw the best in him and sent him straight from the headmaster's office to the gamekeeper's hut."

"Where he has served us faithfully for many years," Albus reminded her.

"And Edith Edwards," Minerva added. "She was the daughter of a known Muggle-hater and a man imprisoned for murder…"

"A situation no Hogwarts student has ever found himself in," Albus reminded her.

Of course. She had misspoken in implying that anyone with such a father should stay away from Hogwarts, but Edwards had shown her own propensity for the Dark Arts. When her response to a few bullying Slytherins had resulted in the destruction of a spare classroom and the scarring of her bullies, she had been taken under the Headmaster's wing. She now worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"With this track record, you might wonder what sort of burgeoning terror we are admitting this year."

"I wonder that every year," Albus pointed out. "Ever since I met a quiet, polite orphan named Tom Riddle, I have worried that I might his kindred spirits in the corridors."

"Yet you don't think of this child as one?"

"I do not,' Albus said. "And what harm is there in fostering the good in a few students? It is our duty and privilege as teachers and, failing that, if Horace Slughorn is allowed to have protegees, so am I."

Minerva allowed herself another sigh. "Albus, in an ideal world, lions would lie down with lambs. Manticores would welcome a belly rub. Every half-giant would be as kind-hearted as Rubeus Hagrid. But this is not an ideal world and you cannot treat it as such."

"Oh, but I would like to," Albus protested, holding up a headless ginger newt for emphasis. "In an ideal world, it would not matter that Rubeus' mother is a giantess. I would be able to go to the house elves and offer one a place in your Transfiguration class because no creature would be denied a wand based on race. In an ideal world, my sister would not have been hidden away for her own protection and health. I could have cheered her on when she was sorted as a Hufflepuff and boasted of my sister's marks in Care of Magical Creatures. When this world became too overwhelming for her, she would have been able to miss a class to deal with it in her own way and no one would have looked askance at her for being a unique magical child."

This was the most he had said about Arianna in years. His usual memories talked of her gentle humor and her quiet affection towards her brothers. He did not like to speak of the life she had been deprived of long before her death. He liked to remember everything that she had contributed to the life of her small family.

"This is not an ideal world," Albus concluded, "but that does not mean I will ever stop trying to make it better for those of us who feel ill at ease in it. With Hagrid, that meant keeping him at Hogwarts to tend the creatures. With Edith, it meant encouraging a different kind of strength of will. Today, it means that I will be on my way shortly so that I can speak to the boy before moonrise."

On that intriguing note, he snitched one last biscuit and took his leave.


End file.
